


Muscle Memory

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Post Hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:57:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Kinetikatrue</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muscle Memory

Patrick had forgotten what it felt like. 

Not just the performing and the crowd and the feeling of being with his best friends, but the sheer joy of hearing their words shouted back at them. Hearing their names and the chant that beats along with his heart - _Fall Out Boy! Fall Out Boy!_

He looks at Joe and Andy and he can see the same thing reflected in them, but their smiles are nothing compared to Pete’s. Pete’s at _home_ on the stage with them, shouting out lines and singing along even when he’s not at the mike. His smile is incandescent, lighting up the room brighter than any of the spotlights burning and whirling down on them.

This is what Patrick’s been looking for for the past year they’ve been playing with this idea, putting real words to music and thinking it might be something. Not hoping at all, too scared to think what it could all mean. Pete’s been the most reluctant of them all, giving Patrick his words like they’re something he’s not sure he should let go, like if he gave that and it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. He didn’t dare believe.

Patrick’s not used to Pete being afraid when it came to his words. That’s the one thing Pete was always sure of, even when the rest of the world didn’t make sense. Pete put himself in the words, and maybe that’s why he was afraid of it all. Because if they’d rejected his words, if they hadn’t been able to make them work, they rejected Pete. 

Patrick looks over at him and watches the way the crowd noise seems to make Pete bigger than himself. Pete looks his way and Patrick gets caught in the heat of his eyes and the brilliance of his smile. Nothing about the hiatus changed the fact that they were friends, but right now Patrick’s whispering all of Pete’s secrets to the world, and the headiness of Pete’s trust makes Patrick’s stomach tight.

The songs aren’t seamless, but they feel right, and when they launch into _Grand Theft Autumn_ , Patrick thinks the roof of the club is going to blow off. They’ve got to be hearing the crowd over the entire city block, and he can only imagine what it’s going to be like when they hit _Saturday_. When they get to the bridge and the sound swells as he and Pete move toward each other, leaning into one another. They haven’t practiced this, haven’t rehearsed it. It’s muscle memory. Pete doesn’t say anything and neither does Patrick, but he can feel it in the weight of Pete’s head against his shoulder.

After that it’s an even bigger blur that it was before, sound and lights and noise. He can’t hear himself singing over the crowd, and Pete going out into the audience on _Saturday_ makes it a thousand times worse. He can hear Pete’s scream though, over everything else, and for the first time all night, it stops feeling like a dream and starts feeling real. Patrick’s heart pounds, his pulse loud in his ears. 

This is it. This is them. The same. Different. Better.

**

This part is the same too. 

Patrick pinning Pete to the wall and holding him there, breathing in the heat of Pete’s skin. Pete doesn’t sweat, but he smells like he’s overheating, like his skin is exuding something Patrick can’t identify except as Pete. It doesn’t take long before he can’t hold back any more, leaning in and pressing his mouth to Pete’s. It opens under his, tongue tangling around Patrick’s the moment Patrick pushes it past his parted lips. Pete never takes control of this. He makes Patrick do all the work, make all the moves until they’re both too far gone to stop.

Patrick sheds his jacket and his shirt, knowing he should wait until they’re out of the hallway. But Joe and Andy know and understand and they keep a casual sort of watch to make sure Pete and Patrick have some privacy. It’s been a long time since he’s had Pete’s hands on his skin, a solo record, a solo tour, an opening gig, and almost 80 pounds. He’s more nervous about it now than he ever ways when he was heavier, but Pete’s always looked at him like he was perfect, so nothing really changes.

“Hey,” Pete breathes against Patrick’s mouth. His fingers slide up Patrick’s sides, not quite tickling. Patrick wants to squirm away, because he knows there are the silvery scars of stretch marks and he doesn’t want Pete to see all the imperfections. “Missed you.”

“I didn’t go anywhere.” He smiles against Pete’s kiss as he unbuttons Pete’s shirt. “Not really.”

“You don’t have to be far away to be gone.” 

Patrick shakes his head and slides his fingers into Pete’s hair, holding his head as he leans in even closer, kissing him hard. Pete’s fingers dig into Patrick’s sides, his hips canting out to collide with Patrick’s. Pete’s hard against Patrick’s thigh, tight pants doing nothing to hide it. Patrick finally finds skin and slides his hands under Pete’s flannel, feeling the heat he can still taste as he bends his head to lick Pete’s neck.

“Fuck,” Pete groans softly.

“Not here. Don’t have the supplies.” He laughs against Pete’s skin, feeling the vibrations. They only do this post-show, and not actually every time. After the good ones sometimes, always after the great ones. Patrick has a feeling this tour is going to involve a lot of this. “Should stock up though.”

“You’re the planner,” Pete thrusts against Patrick and Patrick takes the hint, letting one hand slide down to Pete’s waist. “You should plan to do something about my dick.”

“I can think of a lot of things involving your dick. Most of them not for public consumption. Not that that’s stopped you before.”

“Patrick.” There’s a hint of warning, a note of pleading. They both make Patrick’s cock jerk and he undoes Pete’s jeans, sliding his hand inside. There’s a tangle of hair, already wet and slick, and then Pete’s in his hand, hard and heavy and hot. Patrick tightens his fingers and starts stroking, swallowing Pete’s breath as it grows more and more ragged, desperate.

“Missed you.” Patrick whispers, a secret that stays between them, something no one else gets a piece of – not the news, not the fans. Meagan and Eliza know, but nothing beyond ‘it’s something that’s not going to go away’. Neither of them would call it a deal breaker, but it is, whether they acknowledge it or not. “Missed you so much.”

Pete nods, because he’s too far gone to do much else. Patrick can feel him tense against him and then Pete’s coming in his hand, cock sliding easily in the wet heat. He shakes with the force of it, and Patrick watches him with wide eyes. Even when he’s vulnerable, Pete’s not exposed except when they do this, when he gives Patrick this.

Pete sinks to his knees and opens Patrick’s jeans, shoving them out of his way. His mouth is tight and wet and Patrick braces himself on the wall when his knees go weak. His hand is slick and slips, so he tangles it in Pete’s hair, not caring that he’s making a mess of Pete’s damp hair. His hips push forward and the pressure of Pete’s mouth changes, opening up as Patrick begins to thrust. “Fuck. Fuck, Pete.” The words are little more than a whisper, a gasp, because in all the blowjobs he’s gotten in his life, no one is better than Pete. No one works him over and sucks him, swallows him down and makes him shake like Pete. It doesn’t take him long before he’s coming, and Pete’s mouth constricts, tongue and the roof of his mouth finishing Patrick off until he slumps forward against the wall, cock softening even as he pushes it deeper in Pete’s mouth.

Pete pulls back and leans back, looking up at Patrick through wet lashes. There are bright tears in the corners of Pete’s eyes and his mouth is swollen. If he didn’t know him, Patrick might think Pete was upset, but he does. He always has. He helps Pete to his feet and nuzzles him, noses rubbing together. “That was a pretty awesome show.”

Pete laughs and nods. “That it was, Stump.” He kisses the tip of Patrick’s nose. “I gotta put the little human to bed. You think you can handle the crowd?”

“Yeah. I think I got it.” He eases himself back into his jeans and fastens them. He’d feel bad that he got Pete’s jeans dirty, but they’re close enough to home that Pete’s mom is probably going to wash them, hopefully without comment. He starts to walk away and then stops. “Hey, Pete?”

Pete looks up from where he’s making a face as he fastens his jeans. “Yeah?”

Patrick smiles and Pete returns it in one of his trademark glorious grins. “We’re back.”

“And better than ever.”

“Well, it was a pretty good blowjob...”

“Stump.” Pete shakes his head and reaches for Patrick’s hand, pulling him in and kissing him again. “Don’t ruin the fucking moment.”


End file.
